Assimilation
by Pingless
Summary: John goes out on a date leaving behind some evidence. Sherlock investigates, deduces, and confronts.
1. Chapter 1

By the time Sherlock phoned Lestrade and returned home it was around 8:04 pm. The flat looked recently deserted; still maintaining a warm touch of presence, but cooling off quickly. From the flurry of smells Sherlock determined that John, highly inconveniently, decided to go on a date that night; there was the heady smell of cologne, the sobering whiff of tea, and an almost imperceptible aroma of flowers John had picked up on his way home from work. Still, rather hopefully, Sherlock decided to call out the name of his flat mate (in case his date cancelled and John was now brooding in his bedroom); before any sound could escape his lips, however, he turned around abruptly – floorboards emitting a single creak – and inhaled fully, closing his eyes momentarily.

It was a faint smell that brought smile upon his face, pooled heat in his stomach and caused his heart to stutter momentarily. Now that it had been discovered, the damp walls of the flat seemed to reek of it; Sherlock hastily took off his glove to smell the inside of his wrist. As he suspected, the smell in the flat matched the aroma of Sherlock's shower gel.

Moving quickly, Sherlock put his coat on a hook by the door and ascended the stairs in three great strides. In a second he flicked the switch in the bathroom and was greeted with a wet shower curtain and a dripping faucet. Tightening the handle quickly he noticed that John's shower gel was nowhere to be seen; an extraneous doubt started worming itself into Sherlock's train of thought. Perhaps John had simply run out of his gel.

Market, Sherlock thought, John went to the market yesterday. He was in the kitchen in the next 20 seconds, going through the trash; recovering the shopping list, Sherlock saw John's shower gel's brand name scribbled in. He could not have just forgotten, for toothpaste was underneath and he definitely bought that; then he did not get it deliberately. Sherlock allowed himself a smile of contentment.

The next clue came an hour later, when Sherlock was passing John's bedroom. The door was ajar, Sherlock could see a slither of John's bed sheets; a small black rectangle lay there, beckoning Sherlock to investigate. It was oddly familiar, with silvery writing on it; Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his hand snaked around the doorframe, fingers tentatively toyed with the switch. In an instant he decided and the room lit up, the door opened widely and Sherlock picked up the rectangle – it was made of cardboard; to his (almost) surprise he recognized the tag of his favorite brand name.

Sherlock's breath caught when he flipped the tag and realized that whatever article of clothing John bought was two sizes smaller than what he usually wore. Not trousers then, that would be much too uncomfortable; and the price suggested that it was a shirt. Fascinating; Sherlock's free hand snaked into his pocket and felt the contour of his mobile. Deciding to confront John face-to-face instead, Sherlock pocketed the tag and, with a final look around, left John's bedroom.

At 9:34 Sherlock's fingers hovered over the keyboard of John's laptop in a rare moment of indecision. John's inbox opened instantaneously as the computer loaded, and Sherlock was now confronted with pre-date emailing between John and his girlfriend. He did not intend to spy, but in the end he flicked through the emails briefly, finally closing the laptop in 20 minutes and immersing himself in thought.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Angelo's _is a bit casual for a date."

John stopped dead on his tracks, turning to Sherlock who was half-lying on the sofa, staring ahead of himself.

"Well, it was a casual date," John shrugged and proceeded to the stairs.

"On the contrary," Sherlock stopped him again. John turned to look at him, awaiting continuation, but it seemed that Sherlock needed some encouragement.

"Explain," John sighed, taking a few steps toward his flat mate.

Sherlock finally turned to look at him, snaking his hand into his pocket and taking out the black rectangle of a tag. John became visibly uncomfortable, inhaling; Sherlock's eyes slid lower and he was confronted with straining buttons on John's chest. Raising one eyebrow, Sherlock met John's nervous gaze.

"I believe it is obvious to both of us that you would not force yourself to endure this shirt if it were a casual date," John watched as Sherlock traced the side of the tag with one long finger, "And you do not wear purple."

"I…"

"You used my shower gel," Sherlock noticed off-handedly, looking ahead of himself again, eyes slightly narrowed in thought, "That makes it three things. But perhaps there is more. If I were to call Angelo and inquire as to what table you reserved…"

"It was the same table, yes," John said, exhaling.

Sherlock remained silent for a second, before swinging his legs and getting up from the couch.

"You," he said, walking menacingly toward John, "You certainly have an agenda."

John's breathing quickened as Sherlock got closer; he was almost ready to faint, but luckily the detective bypassed him and walked into the kitchen. John closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

"Assimilation," Sherlock said from the kitchen, puttering about, "We have been living together for a while, it was bound to happen. I eat on a more regular basis. And you have decided to buy a tighter shirt."

John risked a quick look at Sherlock only to see the detective making tea. Sherlock had two cups ready, and John relaxed, walked to his chair and reached for the remote.

"But assimilation is a gradual process," Sherlock continued and the pounding in John's temples resumed. His hand rested a mere inch from the remote, but he did not have the will to bridge the distance.

"I would have noticed these things before. Therefore it is something else. We might of course assume that you were impressed by the effect I have on women and that you decided to reap similar benefits by undergoing forced assimilation."

John was mesmerized by the stitching on the lapels of his shirt when Sherlock surprised him by thrusting a cup of tea in his hand. John reluctantly took the cup and Sherlock swiftly took a seat close to him.

"There is always that," Sherlock sighed, close to John's ear, "And then, of course, there is Narcissism."

Sherlock watched as John almost choked, but fought with himself to maintain a respectful appearance.

"Narcissism," Sherlock repeated, leaning back against the couch, draping his arm around its back. "The game you are playing is not quite as simple as it looks. You know me and I know you, and this," Sherlock brandished the tag again, "Was planted intentionally."

"You assumed I was a homosexual after our first dinner at Angelo's. Then, perhaps, you remembered some chapter on Freud from university and recalled the link between homosexuality and Narcissism. Coupled with your observations of me, you assumed that if I were to fancy someone, it would be someone who reminds me of myself."

"Now, how to frame this game so I did not think that you were simply trying to impress your dates? The answer is to be caught, of course. If you were to pursue women, you would have been ashamed to admit that you were assimilating. But if I am the object of your affection – then getting caught has at least two benefits. First, you present yourself in your assimilated form. Second, you confess your affections, almost inadvertently."

"Third, and I admire the personal quality of it, you provide me with a case."

John fidgeted uncomfortably and stole a glance at Sherlock, who leaned close to him again.

"Fourth," Sherlock whispered, touching John's ear with his lips, "You remind me that every brilliant criminal wants to get caught in the end."


End file.
